The Flower

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Sweat dripped down my forehead, along the bridge of my nose and sat peacefully on my thick lips. The smell of feet and damp bodies swam through the air, danced on my nostrils. I was at the once again trying to change , trying to get it together. It is the beginning of the year, I am like everyone else. Basic. What's so wrong with trying to change? I stare my self in the eye, trying to fall in love with my reflection. Im not obeast , I am curvy with a stomach flatter than my big bust, My arms though ar like lumps of storage of jelly.Some may say I have nothing to worry about , others will say I need to lose weight. "come on Saph ,lets go "my dad calls.I follow my Dad to the car.

I used to be so sporty , such a tomboy , such a rough one. People never think of me like that now. Lazy and fat, The adjectives placed on my forehead , on my back , on my stomach and my thighs.Before you assume that I am lazy and fat and this is probably my first time at the gym, think again. I have PCOS (Polycystic Ovaries), I am a vegan , I workout , I do yoga, and as I am stating things about my self. Im 17, old enough to have sex, Young enough to blame mistakes on adolescents. "Saph" I heard from the seat next to me. My eyes glazed ,slowly fall on my Father, making eye contact with the quick glimpse of his eyes as he quickly turns to see my face. " Whats on your mind? You are never quiet"

"Is that an insult?" I joke as we come to a red light.

My dad chuckles and smiles. "you did well today , soon you will be as strong as me".He flexes both arms showing muscles , straining, changing his pose every 2 milla seconds. The beeping of a car behind stops the laughter that was in the car. My dad Placed his hands on the steering wheel , still smilling I see him place his foot on the gas in a hurry to satisfy the car behind. He chuckles before looking over to me and his eyes widen right before feel the pressure and heat of metal. So much pressure so much heat, so much light. The sound of breaking glass and crunching of metal. I was flying , I was flying towards the sun and I was peaceful and beautiful. It was terrifyingly beautiful. I was in the air for what felt like mintues the lading was slow and calm, everything ,oved slow like underwater, I was drowning now like a peaceful drowning not the struggling kind. Not the trying to get the life guards attention kind, the accepting kind. Like a flower. In that moment my life did not flash before my eyes, I thought about flowers. At school we read a poem called 'A Contemplation Upon Flowers' the persona spoke about how he admired the way flowers accepted their death and knew its season and somehow understood why. This played in my head and I just thought that I would understand why, like flowers. Maybe flowers don't understand, maybe they do not understand why their beauty cant live forever why they must leave but regardless they accept it. Staring into deaths eyes they accept it. They know their season.The last thing I hear is the echoe of people and the pulsing sounds of sirens. Sweat dripped down my forehead, along the bridge of my nose and sat peacefully on my thick lips. The smell of feet and damp bodies swam through the air, danced on my nostrils.

The hospital beds were like gymnastic mats against my back , metaphorically. They were actually very comfortable. They were like gymnastic mats because when you sat on them in school at P.E or in Gym its fun, its different , its temporary but you wouldn't want to stay on it all night and all day because that makes it oridinary and repetitive and its not home. A gymnastic mat will never be home. I laid in the hospital bed for 10days , 10 long days . Every day I asked my mum if I can come home but was always denied. I'd walk around for an hour or so to exercise my broken leg , sometimes I would escaped to the waiting room just for a change. Moving was still hard because of my broken ribs. I would visit my dad, he didn't break anything but suffered frm sever headaches. The doctors worried about brain damage but he seemed fine to me but parents do a lot to protect their children.

On the tenth day after the doctors did some checks and I did my exercise , I sat in the waiting room.I watched the tv when I saw a girl with black cap covering her curly black hair that came to her shoulders with brown highlights streaking through. She walk towards the desk while her hips swayed. Dressed in a black cardigan and baggy black joggers and black Nike shoe. Short fingernails with chipped black nail polish. She sat on the chair two seats from me and her chocolate skin seemed to melt my heart and bring the first smile of the day across my face. The chocolate skinned girl pulled out a paper and pencil and began to draw. After five minutes a silhouette of what seemed to be an angel was on the girls page. I hung over the right side of my seat to see her drawing, mesmerised. When she went tensed and placed her pencil flat on her paper pad, she slowly turned to me.

"Can I help you?" The girl said stoically while her well arched , well groomed eyebrows raised.

"no , I mean , um," I paused "your art is..is beautiful" I continued anxiety rising up my throat.

"cheesy but thanks" the girl replied with almost no emotion.

"yeah , so what you her for?" the words rolled from my tongue and the anxiety remained lodged in my throat.

"why you so fricking noisy inspector," she replied "I just have a cold" The girl continues and turns to face her drawing as to end the conversation. A small twitch of the corner of her lips and the glisten of her eyes brings the second smile of the day.

After I went back to my room my doctor explained to me that I could leave the next day all being well. My mother stayed with me that night. I couldn't sleep; I just wanted to go home. The hospital was a whole different place at night, dark with a constant glow of light. Although the smell was 24/7 there was emptiness to the air at night, a quietness. That night I remember the way my mother's thick hair sleeked up into one, loose bun and how tired she looked while sleeping, as though sleep deprivation wasn't the cause of her tiredness. Her eyelashes curved upwards like my own, her skin as chocolate and smooth as mine. Then I realized that that car accident could change our lives forever and I wondered if my mother would always look tired and if she would lose the smoothness to her skin soon or if her eyelashes would bow with the weight we may face. I slowly drifted off and the thoughts of how life would be never stopped.

I woke up the next morning tired but ready to go home. As my father, mother and I walked through the hospital towards the exit I saw her, the chocolate skinned girl. I could never forget those eyes, that hair. Eyes like caramel swirled in dark chocolate, eyes that made you stare , eyes that made you think about flowers all over again. Hair like rose bushes , like twirling daisies like, flower petals. Why was she back again? Why was she even in the hospital for a cold? She was clearly sick but with what? Her eyes fell on my mine and my hair stood on end and a ball of anxiety formed in my throat again as we walked out the hospital towards my mother's car.